Silvere

Chapter Two: '67 Chevy Impala

 "Oh, dig my shallow grave.

'cause It's not me you'll save;

'cause I'm a lost a cause."

Imagine Dragons, Lost Cause.

The Jeep stopped as it pulled back into my driveway, the long day weighing down on my shoulders as I exited the shotgun, and slammed the door shut. My eyelids threatened to shut as I waved to Winter, her hand quickly flicking me good night before donuting out of the drive way back to her own home outside of Lawrence, Oklahoma.

I dragged my feet as I walked up to the porch, my hands knocking on the door; I leaned up against the screen door and hoped that my brother was still awake.

"Coming!" A high pitched girly voice said from inside; I groaned angrily and looked to see Clarisse on the other side of the door; her hair messed up from a night with Simon.

"Really?" I asked to myself, as she opened it and smiled.

She was a nice girl, beautiful and sweet; completely unknown to the fact that Simon had already found his mate. It wasn't her fault that Simon hasn't told the pack that Winter is his mate, but the disgust of him being with anyone but Winter made bile run up my throat. "Where is Simon, Clare?" I wondered, trying my best not to sound frustrated.

"In his room, he's asleep; he was pretty tired after..." She blushed a vibrant red, it almost made me laugh at her embarrassment, but I held it in and kept my straight face.

I pushed her aside, smiling politely, before running up the stairs.

"I wouldn't go up there, he's mighty tired." Clarisse warned, but I shrugged it off.

Turning to her on the staircase, I cocked my eyebrows, "Simon is my brother- and if not the least, he deserves to be woken in the middle of the night if he is going to..." I trailed off before I could cause damage to Clarisse's reputation. She really wasn't a skank, werewolves usually weren't. But she was sleeping with my best friend's mate, but then again my stupid brother decided not to tell anyone about his mate, so the fault is all his.

I opened his door, seeing his shirtless figure cascaded over his ruffled bed, but I knew they hadn't had sex in his bedroom, they never do. He doesn't let anyone, minus himself and sometimes an exception for me, in his shrine of a room that was dedicated to dark color schemes and old posters of bands like Queen and Metallica hung from ceiling to floor. He hadn't changed it once in the last five years.

"Hey," He whispered, looking up from his pillow and digging his face into the sheets.

"You son of a b-"

"Don't start, I feel guilty enough." Simon whispered, his arms tightening around the pillow.

I rolled my eyes, kicking off my boots, and sitting on his bed. "Then why do you do it?" I wondered, "If I had a mate, I'd never look at any other man." I told him truthfully, laying down beside him.

When we were younger, our family would go on camping trips; when our parents would go run off into the woods to shift into their wolves, we'd lay in our sleeping bags and point at the stars. One day, our mother and father didn't come back until the next day, rendering us helpless in the wilderness; the entire night, Simon had held me, and I had cried on his chest until I was too dehydrated to cry any longer. We were only kids back then, Simon eight or so, and I growing out of my toddling years.

Right now it reminded me of that moment, because by the look in his eyes, I could tell he was going to cry. He didn't usually show a lot of emotion other than anger, but he felt helpless with his situation. He didn't want to hurt Winter, but he was going mad, so he did what all men do. Try to get their mind off of the problem for just a few hours, and then return to it, only for it to hurt twice as hard.